The Troubles of Jack
by waspinthelotus
Summary: SLASH! Chapter 5 up, more to come. The Pearl's crew is sick, the navy is on her tail, and to make matters worse, Jack Sparrow has pulled a beautiful stranger on board; and gets much, much more than he bargained for. Original, continuing story line and OCs
1. Man Overboard

Disclaimer: I do not own the movie(s) that this fanfiction is written for, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Title: The Troubles of Jack  
Author: c. dirt (mui)  
Summary: After Jack has conquered the Caribbean with the Black Pearl, his men start getting sick. Then, the Navy starts to gain on his tail. Then, a new pirate ships arrives on the waters. To make matters worse, Jack takes on the company of a fluttery young male and he gets much more than he bargained for.  
Rating: NC-17 for slashy sex.  
Pairings: Jack Sparrow/OC, OC/OC.  
Disclaimer: POTC and Jack Sparrow belongs to Disney. I created the characters of Jasper MacGregor and Marc.

--

"Cap'n! Man o'er board!" A crewmember's tremorous cry rang out, their voice carried weakly on the heavy wind, and Capitan Jack barely heard it over his own meandering thoughts.

Jack Sparrow was perched at the starboard edge of his ship, overlooking the black waves, and up until previously, deeply involved in his musings. At the cry of his men, he turned around, and glared out upon the north horizon to see, strangely enough, this: clouds of dust and smoke blooming in the distance; it was a naval ship that had fallen, or Jack assumed so by the bright crosses on the sails, and charred planks sailed on the water towards the Black Pearl.

"Man o'er board!" The call was repeated, and finally Jack hopped down to deck, his dreadlocks whipping his face.

Something in his gut told him it was going to be a bad day.

"Drop the boat, steady the ropes! Let's pick 'im up!" Jack parted through the miniscule crowd of his men; after the recent blight there had been a loss of nearly a dozen men, several more dropped off in Tortuga, cancelling any previous obligations with the sneering pirate and looking for more profitable gigs. Now the crew was down to thirteen and shrinking, men were sick and dying in the bowels of the ship from a mysterious disease.

And on top of that—it seemed that navy ships had settled in the carribean waters, not only that, but have been blown to smithereens. How unusual.

As much of a pirate as Jack Sparrow was, he did not have a habit of blowing up the queen's good ships without due reason. After all, he was a patriotic man... at times. This was something new, something to take note of. This was the work of somebody else.

He planted a heel on the bow and leaned over. Two lackies had dropped the boat into the water, and were fishing the lost seaman out with an oar. They dragged him on and yank the boat clumsily up the side of the ship. The burlier of the two shipmates drop the man's body onto the deck with a cold, wet sound, leaning down and pressing his ear to his chest, listening for a heartbeat. "E's not breathing, sir!"

"Is he dead?" Jack inquires, adjusting his hat low over one brow, feigning disinterest. He narrows his eyes at the sight of the lad: there was something terrifying about the whiteness of his skin. He _must've_ been one of the queen's boys with skin as white as that, but his clothes were shredded, so his rank was indistinguishable; there was no hat upon his head, just a long, tangled nest of curls, black as the sea was now, with strange brown patches where the dying sun glowed on him.

Jack watched placidly for a moment; the white body jerking as the knuckles pound against his sternum. After a minute or so, Jack rolls his eyes and gives an unpleasant sigh. "Bloody hell, ye're doin' it all wrong!"

With that, Capitan Jack drops next to the cold body and slaps the crewman's hands away with a calloused finger. He clears his throat. "Haven't done this in a while..." He says as a second thought, then smiles wryly and brushes a few stray locks of hair from his face before dipping his body forward. He places his sunburned palms flat on the lad's chest, pressing in tenderly, and feels the erratic pulsing of a heartbeat. His eyes drag up the spot where his hands have pressed, to the long, white neck, and pale lips that are plush and woman-like… he lingers there, longer than he knows he should, before he drops his head down and proceeds to clasp his lips around the supple mouth…

COUGH!! SPLUTTER!!

The lad bursts to life, spraying brakish sea-water all over Capitan Jack Sparrow.

The crew hurriedly rush to the man's side, providing him with a jug of rum, and throw a weathered cloth over him. There are pats on his weak shoulders, shouts of approval from the crowd. Somebody says, "Welcome to the Black Pearl, mate!".

Jack sits back on his knees and wipes at his face, grimacing distastefully, his own curses are drowned out by the cheers of his crew. He recovers after a moment, standing and saying, "Aye! That's right, boys, we've got a lucky 'un here! Take him down and check him for wounds!" He gestures at the air as he lists out his commands, sniffing loudly at the presence of seawater in his nostrils. The crewmates lift the lad up into their arms and the crowd disappears behind them, down into the cabins of the ship.

The cries and shouts fade as the crowd goes under deck, and Jack is left there, standing alone on the deck of the Black Pearl. The wind whistles bitterly through his braids and he looks again out onto the horizon, at the plumes of purlpish-black smoke coiling into the sky. He looks at the torn sails and the charred bodies floating on the water. He frowns.

"D'ye think he's a navy boy?"

Jack jerks at the sudden interuption of his thoughts. He turns to see Anamaria, looking brazen, her teeth glittering.

"Dunno. Could be, but he ain't got anything on him from the looks of it that would give him away." He says.

"Wot do ye think 'appened?" She says, after a while, following Jack's gaze to the wreckage on the water.

Jack Sparrow smiles, staring unblinkingly. "Oh, could be anything..."

Ana drops her eyes to the deck, then looks over to Jack. "D'ye think...?" She purses her lips quizically.

Jack nods. "Pirates, indeed."


	2. Interrogation

Marc had been sufficiently poked, prodded, disrobed and tucked into a tiny cot, in one of the darkest and stuffiest cabins on the ship. The only personnel on the ship who slightly resembled a physician was Gibbs, who simply poked at the boy for broken bones, gave him a gulp of rot-gut whiskey, and laughed heartily in the lad's face, telling him how lucky he was to be alive.

As soon as Gibbs was satisfied that the lad was neither sick nor wounded (and the former was very much feared, considering the state of things), he wrapped the man up in bedclothes and exited the room.

Marc drifts in and out of consciousness for several hours. When he finally comes to, it's well after midnight. He blinks in the darkness, peering through the shadows, trying to associate himself. His torn clothes lay crumpled in a wet pile over on a chair, and a single candle burned blearily off in the corner. A musket and a pair of boots lay disguarded on the floor. He was, it seemed, in somebody's cabin that was, at least until very recently, occupied and in use. No sort of an infirmary to speak of, no sir. He knew by now that he was no longer on the navy ship. And then it came to him… the blast of cannonballs and the smell of blood, the sounds of naval cannons and gunshots, and then, cold, bitter water filling up his nose.

Now where was he? The man who had been caring to him earlier wasn't wearing a uniform to speak of, and his hair was in a dissarray... but he spoke the queen's english, and this, of course, was a very good sign. Marc had heard rumours of pirates, that the soulless madmen were simply overtaking the carribean waters as of late, and that it was a very dangerous time to be out at sea. But most of the pirates he'd been warned about were from Spain, or worse, further south in the barbaric islands, so the stranger's familiar accent gave the lad some relief.

He could tell it was past sun-down, because the candle at the corner of the room was now down to a dull flicker, wax licking down the sides, and there was no sunlight leaking through the walls. He wriggled out of the confining bedsheets and stood unsteadily on the planks of the floor, the air was unbearably hot inside the tiny room, and his bare skin felt slick with sweat. He wiped the wild curls of black hair from his eyes and started to explore the cabin, opening drawers, staring at carved obscenities in the woodwork. On the dresser he found a tattered tricorn hat, flea-bitten at the edges, and flopped it onto his head. With a narcissistic smirk the lad picked up a small hand-held mirror and eyed himself, tilting the corner of the hat far down over one eye, cocking a hip, and winking at his reflection. He looked good. My god, Marc, he thought to himself, for a man who should be dead, he looked quite good.

Just then, as he was admiring himself in the buff, the cabin door flew open with no announcement.

Clutching an oversized jug of rum like it was an extension of his being, Jack stood unsetadily in the doorway. His mouth hangs open as if he is about to speak, but no words escape, as he finds himself staring at the image of Marc, body all slender and nude.

Marc is standing there, mirror in hand, hat flung over his eye, naked as the day he was born.

He drops the mirror and it crashes dramatically into a hundred pieces.

"Oh shite! Shite, ah'm sorry!" He blurts, then grabs the hat, backing himself into a corner and concealing his genitals with the oversized tricorn. "Ah didn't.. oh, god... ah thought ah was alone!"

Jack manages to close his mouth, eyes still stuck to the boy's form, all white and willowy, with lean muscle and shiny sweat licked all over. He's pinker now that he's got some air going through his lungs, and his cheeks are painted a brazen crimson with embarrassment, chocolate eyes wide and long-lashed. The hair simply drops from his head like the plume of an exotic bird, so inexpilcably curly and mad he resembled a gypsy lass off an italian road, selling roses.

He was absolutely beautiful.

"I'm sorry I broke the mirror..." Marc repeated, voice quieter now. His eyes are averted, down at his feet.

Jack looked at the shards of glass scattered on the floor and shrugged. "No worries! The man it belonged to is dead anyway." He staggered across the cabin then, kicking at the glass with his bootheels. Marc continued to press himself into the walls, the hat clutched tightly in his hands.

Jack gets within a foot of the boy, then flashes a madman's smirk, golden teeth showing. "So, wot's yer name then? My name is Jack... Sparrow. CAPITAN Jack Sparrow." He puffs out his chest with the last three words, then performs an extravagant bow.

A jolt of fear suddenly pierces at Marc's chest. Capitan Sparrow? The name sounded frighteningly familiar, and as the lad lifts his eyes to take in the man he nearly faints. Jack most definitely had the word "pirate" written all over him; kohl-streaked eyes, all manner of bead and trinket spun into his mane of black dreadlocks, garish bejeweled rings on every knuckle. Marc begins to tremble, and darts his eyes to the musket stuffed against Jack's hip. What should he do? Will be attacked? Will he be made to walk the plank? What sorts of things do pirates do to unfortunate little buggers like him?

Jack notes the boy's hyperventilation and bites his lip: "Oh, but where are my manners? Here, mate, sit down.. let me get you some trousers..." He guides Marc back onto the cot, throwing a pair of breeches at him that are at least twice as big as what would fit him. Never the less, Marc silently slips into them and tightens the waist, glad, at least, to no longer be exposed in the presence of this.. capitan Jack.

"So, mate, yer name is...?" Jack sits down next to Marc, hanging his legs off the cot and taking a hearty swig of his bottle. "Or 'ave ye forgotten it? Ah know how these shipwrecks are... amnesia... confusion... water on the brain, eh?" He laughs and slaps the boy on the back, nearly sending him flying across the room. Marc clutches the sides of the bed for dear life.

"My.. My name's Marc." The boy says, and politely takes the bottle of rum when Jack hands it to him, taking a sip and coughing.

"Well, Marc, ye're aboard one of the finest pirate ships in the carribbean, the Black Pearl. We saw yer ship off northeast, already in ruins I'm afraid, too late to save anybody else. Looked like you were the only lucky lad!"

"I.. I don't really know what happened, to be honest with you." Marc pouted, taking another drink before Jack snatched the handle of the jug up in his ringed fingers and poured half of the bottle down his gullet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Marc noted that Jack smelled like the sea, an ocean musk that was overbearing and stung his eyes. Jack smelled like spices and rum, too, and there was something charismatic about his dirty fingers and the way they waved through the air as he spoke. Marc didn't feel as uneasy as he had before, although he was still very aware of the musket wedged at the Capitan's belt.

"That's not unusual. I'd say ye were blown up, from the looks of it." Jack passes the bottle between them, gesturing in the stuffy cabin air; "We saw ye floating on a piece of wood and decided to pick you up. If it weren't for us, mate, who knows how long ye would've been floatin' there. Shark bait, an' all that."

"Well, thank you." Marc said quietly, making an effort to be as polite as possible. He did have manners, a few of them.

Jack peered at the lad then, looking at him with a hardened gaze. His posture suddenly shifted, and he was staring straight on into the boy. "What divison are ye?" He asked quite soberly.

"What?" Marc was taken aback at the Capitan's sudden serious tone. And truly, Marc didn't have the answer for such a question, not the answer Jack was no doubt seeking.

"Don't be crass, mate." Jack bore his teeth then, making it perfectly clear with his tone that he was no longer making idle chit-chat. He needed to know.

"I'm not." Marc said, plainly.

Jack looked confused for a moment. He stood up and leaned his body against the dresser, staring at the ground. "Not what?"

"I'm not Navy. I'm not in the service."

There was a heavy silence and Jack's head sagged for a moment, then he turned around, pointing his eyes at the boy. "You were on the boat with them, mate, that's evidence enough for my liking that ye're involved somehow with the ranks. I'm not going to hurt ye, ye know, I just need to know WHAT your SHIP was doing in these waters…. Savvy?"

Marc pleaded to Jack with his eyes; it was one of the tricks he had learned how to do. After all, he wasn't lying; he was no Navy boy, he hadn't held a sword in his life; a few knives, a dagger or two, a musket, yes, but no fancy naval swords, never. It was just that Marc was... something else, something different, and he wasn't prepared to reveal his occupation to the drunken pirate at this juncture. With a stubborn tilt of his brow he repeated himself: "I'm in no way affiliated with the military or any rank of notoriety whatsoever! Ah'm just a commoner! Ah don't know anything!"

Jack's lips curled. He pulled at the corner of his moustache, stabbing his eyes at the boy, who looked a little shaken up. This was not the answer he had predicted--if anything, he was hoping the lad could've been more use to him as a First Mate or Steward, someone who knew where the ship was headed and why the British Navy was out in the carribean at all. Then again, he was lying. Jack could tell a liar apart from an honest man because, after all, Jack was one of the best liars there was.

So, with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulder, Capitan Sparrow drew his sword and placed the blade gingerly against Marc's throat.

"Ah'll ask ye again, mate..." He spoke, lips pulled back like a wolf; "...what's the Navy got in store for the hot waters of the Carribbean, mm?"

Sweat beaded on Marc's brow, and he gasped as he felt the cold steel prickle across his neck. He squeezed his eyes shut. "I told ye ah don't know! Ah'm not in the Navy!"

"Then wot were ye doing on their ship??" Jack snarled, pressing the blade against the lad's clavicle, tasting copper in the back of his throat.

"I'M A BUGGER BOY!" Marc cried out, then glared with black hatred at the Capitan, his brows heavy and cheeks brazen with frustration, chest heaving with anger. Tears stung his eyes; the truth had been revealed. He felt the blade slip away from his neck. "Ah snuck on for some good coin... ah had no idea they were settin' out to sea, thought they were just skipping ports and that I would get to another town that way. I'm just a hustler, I was just on the boat for a week before we sank. I don't remember how. Ah don't know anything else."

When Marc opened his eyes he saw Jack smirking devilishly at him. The way Jack grinned made Marc feel naked again, made the sweat break out on his arms, made his forehead hot.

Jack didn't consider himself to be a sucker, and he was going to get the information he sought after, one way or another. With his men dying on his own ship and the possiblity of the navy being on his tail (not to mention the threat of other pirates competing for the carribean), Jack's patience had run thin and he leaned heavily on the hilt of his sword, chuckling dryly in the back of his throat. The lad's story was amusing, but Capitan Sparrow doubted it's authenticity. He had seen port hookers--hell, he had even slept with a few (or more)--and they never looked as fine as this one (claiming to be one, anyway) sitting in front of him, wearing nothing but a pair of loose breeches slung low at the waist.

"So, ye say yer a bugger-boy, eh? That's an creative piece of fiction... I ain't heard that one before." Jack slowly advanced on the boy, his dreads hanging in front of his face, a smirk tilted on his lips. In the darkness, his eyes shone behind their kohl masks, and when he got within a few inches of the lad's naked form he felt the boy breathing heavily, and felt the animal sweat radiating off of him.

Marc swallowed clumsily, nearly pinned to the bed by now, Jack's body hovering over him.

"Prove to me you're an honest man, then, Marky-boy... if ye're such a buggerer, then bugger me!"

With that he grabbed the lad's chin and slanted his mouth, pushing out those plump pink lips. He admired the lad's beauty for a moment, the way the dim candle-light made his skin golden, the way his frightened eyes darted around the room and then came back, again and again, to meekly connect with the Capitan's harsh gaze, his fingertips tightening at Jack's wrist as he squeezed the boy's face painfully.

"What... do you want me to do?" Marc breathed out, a quiery Jack Sparrow did not quite anticipate.

Feeling a coil of lust twist in his belly, the Capitan said what any drunken pirate would say in a moment on intense interrogation such as this; purely for the acquirement of truth, of course... "Take off yer trousers... and suck me off."

Still holding Marc's face, Jack saw the eyes darken and shift to the wall behind him, he saw the white fingers loosen from his wrist and glide down a bare stomach. Those narrow hips lifted off the cot and the breeches slid from the legs, weightless. Jack let his eyes wander, but kept his hand tight on the boy's jaw... he saw the nest of ebony pubes, the pinkened organ laying half-swollen at the thigh.

Jack swallowed. Marc's fingers were undoing the ties on his trousers now, unclipping his belt and toying with the tangled sash. The heavy clothes slumped to his knees. He stayed put, knees crushing Marc's thighs to the cot, his hand moving to the lad's throat, keeping him pinned as the nimble, slender fingers found his flesh (which was already, notably, stiff) and began to work him over.

Marc found Jack's eyes again, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips, and he whispered, "I can't put you in my mouth if you're holding me here like this."


	3. A Pair of Hellish Creatures

At this point it would seem our hero's interrogation with the lad has come to, how they say… a screeching, dumbfounding halt. And now the pirate is being lead back up against the wall, and Marc's nimble, white fingers are pinched at his sides, and that sinfully pinkened mouth is dragging down the sweep of Jack's hip, and touches the edge of his cock.

Jack drops his head back. So, the boy's not a navy grunt… or maybe he is, maybe he's just a _buggery_ one, if there is such a thing. Jack's thoughts blur. They jerk back to sharpened attention when Marc's teeth rattle along the sensitive and engorged head of his prick, and he darts his eyes down.

He has to gasp. Just has to. What little, reddish light leaks into the cabin illuminates the lad's youthful face, and those eyes… there's the trace of the devil in Marc's eyes, and the way his tumultuous black curls unfurl on his naked shoulders, and the way he sinks his mouth down on Jack's cock, all the way to the base. He teases it with his tongue.

Jack is numbly surprised when he finds his own calloused fingers dipping down to plunge into that nest of wild hair, to grasp at the back of this fop's head and drive his prick all the way into his hot, wet throat. Marc's fingers tighten at his hips. Jack groans animalistically.

Not that it had been too long since the Capitan had.. buried his meat, so to speak.. one month. Two, actually. Accurately it was his last trek in Tortuga, with a wench, but the girls never did it to Jack like the boys did… anyhow, Jack preferred the honest gain of laying a lad… it was about the sweat and hunt. It was treasure.

The ship lurches forward and Jack inadvertantly thrusts his member directly down Marc's throat. The boy grasps heatedly at the Capitan's naked arse, bobbing his head up and down on the length, pulling out haphazardly to let the wet organ slip against his cheek while he tenderly sucks at Jack's balls.

"Aye, lad, tha's it.." Jack moans, urging the boy on.

With a crack of lightning, the ship rolls on the waves again, and the two bodies are sent scrambling to the other side of the room. Jack lands hard on his back, and suddenly Marc is on top of him, the oversized breeches pooled appropriately at his ankles, and the hazard of the fall has left him somehow.. _straddling_ the bewildered (and horny) capitan.

Jack glances blearily at Marc's erection, and takes note of the touselled state of his hair, the bead of sticky saliva clinging to his open mouth.

"Fuck me." Marc whispers, grabbing Jack at the shoulders and pushing his ass down on him.

Jack can barely think. In fact, he doesn't bother. He digs his fingers into Marc's plump white ass and lets go a helpless whimper as his cock is buried deep in the boy's innards.

Marc drops his head, a curtain of black curls dropping into Jack's eyes, and he smells of sweat and lust as he drops his hips down again on the pirate capitan's lap, his white skin in dramatic contrast to Jack's brown complection, with all the bullet-holes, faded blue-ink tattos scrapes and old scars…

Maddened with sex, Jack pulls himself up and bites into Marc's pink nipple; this only causes Marc to ride him harder, and with a tremulous cry Jack pumps his hips up into the lad's ass over and over, empty bottles rolling past them on the floor as the whole ship shakes and bows, and thunder rumbles through the walls.

They grunt and cry like a pair of hellish creatures, wound together on the floor until Jack spills his seed deep into Marc. The young lad sags against Jack then, letting go just the tiniest of curses before his cock, squeezed tightly between their bodies, explodes in a jet of white cum.

The sound of his heart beating rapidly in his ears takes a few moments to cease before Capitan Jack hears the cries of his men on deck, and the hissing of heavy rain battering against the sides of the ship. He throws Marc off of him and pulls his pants up, wiping his dick on his sash.

Marc lies splayed on the floorboards, looking up at the pirate with a strange twist in his brow. He pants softly. "W..where are you going?"

Jack sniffs loudly. "S'rain.." With that he stumbles (quite animatedly) towards the door of the cabin, nearly falling twice. The floor rocks beneath him, and when he throws the door open he looks over his shoulder at Marc, waving his arm: "Put some clothes on and git on deck. We need as many hands as we've got."


	4. Stormy Weather

The waves crash against the ship, throwing it along the crests of water like a toy boat. Water plummets down upon the weathered planks of the deck, and Capitan Sparrow's men cry out for assistance as they yank on the ropes and try to steady the Pearl as best they can. Jack emerges from the bottom deck to be pelted in the face with salty rain, lowering his hat over a brow to shield his eyes from the onslaught.

And that's when he sees it.

Probably before anyone else does, they being so distracted by steadying the boat on the choppy waves and all.

A ship. A big ship. With black sails.

"Pirates!" Jack squeals, spinning on his heel and trotting comically back to the cabin door.

Gibbs yanks him by the back of his shirt.

"Wot's that ye say, Cap'n?" The older man throws his neck back, glaring eerily at his Capitan.

"Oh.. nothin'.. jus… pirates, is all." He raises a shaky finger, and stabs at the air. Gibbs looks, and sees the ship leering blurrily in the distance, blinking as water pricks into his eyes.

Pirates, you see, are an unusual thing to see gliding along the carribbean… unusual since Jack regained his ownership of the Pearl say, oh, five years ago. Ordinarily, one mention of Jack's name and pirates flee from the ports, clutching their groins and hiding their loot, considerably the liquid kind.

But these are black sails, all right, and Jack is most certainly cowering like a child under the shadow of his second-in-command, Master Gibbs himself.

The older man shakes his jowls. "Well don't just stand there, Jack, DO something!"

That's when Gibb's old, gray-blue eyes (a little glazed over with age, but still working as good as ever) catch up on the mass of black curls standing in the doorway of the cabin. It was the boy they had dragged up from the waves, looking considerably drier than he had a few hours previous. He was looking… more desheveled than he had when Gibbs had first tucked him into that confining cot, however, and with a twist of his gnarled, sea-bitten face the man knew with certainty that Jack had been up to something.

A crack of lightning severs his thoughts and he goes back to bellowing orders at the crew.

Jack gives a tentative whimper, then hops his nimble body up to the deck and grabs the wheel (not bothering to look back to see if the lad he had, mere moments ago, been shagging had taken a post), spinning it dramatically against the wind. The ship squeals and rocks, and icy rain pecks at his face, his men struggle with the sails.

Marc clings to the doorway. Legs still feeling weak, and numbly registering the danger of the situation, the boy gets seasick and grips at his stomach. Keeping a worried eye on the Capitan-That-Shagged-Him (what was his name again? Sparrow?) he realizes with a pang of fear that the ship is being turned against the other… parallel, the two ships bounce closer to one-another on the black waves.

"Telescope!" Jack bellows, holding out a bejweled hand. The item flings through the air and lands with a wet clap into his outstretched palm. He peers through it, biting at his tongue, holding the scope with one hand while he jiggles at the wheel with the other.

What he sees he finds simultaneously suspicious and relieving: the other ship has not opened it's cannons. Their crew does not weild pistols. His gut tenses; there is a menacing figure standing on the deck opposite. A flamboyant red feather in his tricorn is the only indication of identity on the form, other than it is obviously a form belonging to a man.

His ears are deafened by the clattering of the rain on the deck, and the wild wailing of the wind crashing through the sails. He thinks he hears: "The Gray Maiden!".

The massive ships creak on the waves, a minute clearing of ocean between them. For a long moment, neither crew signal to the other, and there is a heavy static in the air broken only by the rapid pattering of rain on the planks.

Then, suddenly, the rain stops. A heavy black cloud hang above the ships like a ghost.

"Who is your Cap'n?" The mysterious figure calls out.

Jack can barely hear him, but, hopping down, he calls out: "This be the Black Pearl. And I be Cap'n Jack Sparrow!"

"This be the Gray Maiden. And I be Cap'n Jasper McGregor."

There are gasps peppered throughout Jack's crew. He kindly ignores them, as such gestures smudge his ego. Peering down at the Maiden, who holds easily two hundred men on board (an army compared to Jack's pitiful thirty or so), he puts his fingers at the edge of his hat and smiles broadly. "I believe we have some pirate matters to discuss, McGregor."

"Aye," The dark figure purrs. "Shall ye join us for a spell?"


	5. Negotiating With Pirates

Soon the ships get roped together. There is tension between the two crews but no real sense of danger, after all, there is an unspoken comraderie among pirate-types…. Betrayal is not uncommon but occurs almost exclusively among good friends. And Jack and this new-comer "Jasper" have yet to be formally introduced, save their brief ceremony yelling across the waves.

Not wanting to be upstaged, Jack takes several of his strongest men to accompany him across to the Gray Maiden. The men include Gibbs, three tanned lads of twenty or so who were good with a cutlass, and Marc, because Marc, unlike the rest of his crew, was pretty. And Jack wanted to show him off.

Sauntering cockily around on the deck of the Maiden, Jack is keen to observe the fantastic condition of said ship. Polished masts, untattered sails, healthy and confident looking crew, yes, the Maiden was impressive indeed. But was it fast? Was it well-stocked in the essentials: booze, weapons, unspoiled rations? This Jack was curious to find out.There were prospects to be sown here.

He can't help but notice the eyes of the Maiden's crew pecking at Marc, who feels suffiently naked enough, wearing those oversized breeches and a sheer white tunic that does little to conceal his flesh after the rain has soaked it through. The boy shivers under their stares, and Jack lends a protective shoulder for him to lean against.

Finally the group is escorted into the dining cabin, another jealous-inducing panorama of exquisite proportions. The solid oak table stretches twelve men long and four men wide, not an inch of it's surface untouched by goblet or plate. The delectable musk of roast pork and heady wine tickles Jack's nostrils.

Seated, king-like, at the end of the table, is Jasper McGregor.

Strong-jawed and of hardy complection, Jasper is several years Jack's junior and towers over him at a stalky six-foot-four. A thick gravel of stubble lines his proud chin, his face definitively masculant but with a cold, cruel arch to the black brows. His lips are in the curl of a permanent sneer, and his straight coal-black hair is tied behind his head with a black ribbon.That flamboyant red feather dances in his hat as Jasper nods his head to his guests.

"Welcome, members of the Black Pearl and notable Capitan Jack. Please, take a seat. Have some 'nosh."

Jack's receptive ears pick up on the lilt of a scottish accent, drowned out somehow by french intonation. He and his men seat themselves awkwardly, and everyone except Jack Sparrow begin to gorge themselves on fine food. Jack, being ever the arrogant, just puts his feet up on the table.

Jasper laughs. "Ye prefer drink, I take it?" He passes a bottle of french brandy to Jack. He takes a gulp, and passes it around to the rest of his crew.

"S'abit unusual, seein' pirates around in the Carribbean." Jack leans back in his chair, rocking his heels on the oak table. "Pirates, ah mean, other than ourselves."

Jasper's eyes flutter along the faces of all five of Jack's guests. He smiles. "I am aware that ye claim stakes to these waters. Ah've heard a lot about ye, Jack. We pose no threat."

"Oh, I'm not marking you a threat, Jasper. May I call you Jasper?" Jack tweets, smirking cheekily at the other Capitan. "Listen, mate… what I mean is for the past five years me and me Pearl've been floating along la-dee-dah and havin' out run of the place. Namely 'cause ah've killed everyone prior. So I find it very…. _interestin'…_ that ye've suddenly turned up, is all."

Jasper closes his fingers together. They are long and slender, and slip between one another like spider's limbs. Something about the thinness of his hands makes Jack flinch. "My men and I are on our way to the exotic slave routes of Cuba and the Americas. It just so happens that the Carribbean stands between the Atlantic and our destination. Savvy?"

Jack wraps his lips around the bottle of Brandy, suckling heartily at it. He gives a meandering glance to the guards that Jasper has stationed by the door, and tucks his hands behind his neck. "Aye, savvy, Jasper."

"So do I have your permission to cross?" Jasper leans in, cold green eyes pricking at Jack.

"Ah believe that would require some mild negotiation. Howsabout us two Capitans make a pact, thin? A little bit of scratchin' my back, scratchin' yours 'n aw." Jack motions with his fingers in the air, scratching at an invisible back. Jasper sneers giddily at him.

"I wouldn't expect there to be otherwise. What did ye 'ave in mind, thin?"

Jack curls his fingers into his palm, sticking out his lower lip. He can feel Gibbs staring at him, can hear his heels stabbing the floor with anticipation. Finally, he says…

"Ah need men."

"How many?"

"…Sixty or so."

Jasper laughs for a very long time.

"That's quite a negotiation!"

Scrunching up his nose in disdain, Jack rattles his knuckles along the oak table, playing with a pewter fork. He stabs at a roast potato, then drops it back onto it's plate. "Take it or leave it, mate."

"Tell ye wot." Jasper leans in heavily, grinning briskly at poor Capitan Jack. "I'll give ye thirty men. In exchange for somethin' special. Somethin' ah need."

"And what might that be?" Jack turns his eyes to the other Capitan, sneering sarcastically with all his gold teeth.

"A pretty lad. Say, the likes of that one.. right thar." That long, spider-like finger comes out, and points directly at Marc, who sits sunken in his chair, chewing hastily on a mouth-full of seasoned yam (a delectable little treat from Africa, Jasper would later boast to him).

Jack stiffens. He follows the arrow-like finger, already knowing quite well what the Capitan had in mind. He coughs, very unintentionally. He wasn't quite ready to give the boy up, considering he still had supsicions of him knowing more than he lead on, and he had since developed an affinity for the young lad's ability to lie and fuck. (Two things Jack highly prioritized.)

"That one? Right there?" Jack repeats, and watches as a chunk of yam drops from Marc's mouth, who gives Jack a worried look.

"Aye. Who is he?"

"Why, that's…. Hobble… Higgle… Hamston. Hamston, our blacksmith. Couldn't bear to lose him, mate, too important to the ship. Ye'll have to pick another one." Jack chokes around his words, fidgeting his hands around in the air.

Jasper scoffs, leaning back in his chair and extending his arms. "Fer fucks sake. E's no blacksmith, Jack, e's practically a woman!"

"Best blacksmith there is!" Jack pouts, gesturing wildly. "We've got much prettier blokes on board, ah'll bring 'em over, we'll have a wedding, savvy?"

But Jasper has his eyes set on Marc, and with an eerily twist of his wrist he summons his guards to his side. He whispers something to them. They dispatch from the cabin with a scuffle of feet.

Jack cracks his knuckles, a nervous tic. He can smell his men, sweating and stinking up the place.

"There'll be fourty men standing on deck when ye git up there. I keep the smithy. I might even give 'im back, if I grow tired of 'im."

Gibbs nudges Jack in the spine. He grunts, then looks over at the brandy, and takes another swig. With a selfish sneer to take the bottle. Then he stands up, slowly, dragging his feet, walks over to Marc, and places a hand on his shoulder. "This 'un ye said?" He asks to Jasper, flicking his hair over his back casually and piercing at the other Capitan with his kohl-streaked eyes.

Jasper peers at him, then nods slowly. "Aye."

"E's yours."


End file.
